The women sat among the doomed things, turning them over and looking past them and back. This book. My father had it. He liked a book. Pilgrim’s Progress. Used to read it. Got his name in it. And his pipe – still smells rank. And this picture – an angel. I looked at that before the fust three come – didn’t seem to do much good. Think we could get this china dog in? Aunt Sadie brought it from the St. Louis Fair. See? Wrote right on it. No, I guess not. Here’s a letter my brother wrote the day before he died. Here’s an old-time hat. These feathers – never got to use them. No, there isn’t room.
– John Steinbeck
The Grapes of Wrath, Chapter 9. As the migrants pack up to head for California, a nostalgic tone is struck when the women have to leave fond memories behind. They know that there is no room in the truck for things of sentimental value that carry these memories. So the women agree to give up these memories, and take only the bare essentials, the handful of things needed for survival. There isn’t room for the rest, and what’s left behind is burned.